The Funny Duck Hunter
by gypsy rosalie
Summary: Spike is in need of cheering up. Speggy. Christmas present for Sev.


**I'm posting this a bit early because reasons. Christmas present for Sev, based on the prompt:  
><strong>Imagine your OTP/3 are at a park, when Person B says they want to feed the ducks. The ducks aren't in the pond, so they go on a duck hunt, with Person A yelling, "Where are the ducks?"

**Hope you like. Set probably around Series 8/9. Trying a new writing style, and hopefully this'll turn out better than the awful Hi-de-hi fics I wrote 6 years ago! Haha. Merry Christmas Sev! **

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><p>The Maplin's chalet lines are always quiet in the afternoons. The reason why is obvious enough—most of the activities are running, the highlights of the day are playing out around the pool, the campers who decide to zizz or sneak about with lovers they've just met are reasonably good at not making a great deal of noise, and so if you were to pass by them of a three in the afternoon, you would not be blamed for assuming the entire place was empty. It seems almost wrong to spot someone there.<p>

There is only one person who is ever frequently spotted around the staff chalet lines, and she is so much a fixture there that it is as if she doesn't count at all. The other chalet maids may go about their duties as well, but it is always Peggy people see, Peggy people like, Peggy people remember.

And if you were to see Peggy right now, as she bustles past with her clanging trolley, you probably would think nothing of it. She is always around here somewhere, unless she's out there with the Entertainment Staff dressed in a costume, and she will always be somewhere near either you or your chalet, trying to convince you she's got the makings of a good Yellowcoat or trying to get into your room to change the sheets.

Spike Dixon, on the other hand, is not someone you would expect to see anywhere near the chalets at three in the afternoon. There is always something going on he can help out with, in his capacity as one of the entertainers, always some goofy and ridiculous costume he can don, always someone he can follow around in the hope he can make them laugh.

And so if you were to see Spike Dixon as he is now, sitting sulkily on his bed in his Yellowcoat and flannels, a scowl on his face instead of a jovial smile, you might, as Peggy does, look upon the scene with no small amount of confusion.

' 'ere—aren't you supposed to be judgin' the Bathin' the Baby Competition?' Peggy demands as she kicks the door down, a pile of laundry in her arms, and beholds him there.

Spike looks at one of the Marilyn Monroe pictures on Ted's wall and sighs. 'I don't feel up to it, Peggy.'

She drops the washing at once, scrambling over it and landing on his bed in a rather undignified manner.

'What's the matter?' she asks, fumbling to free her foot from a stray pair of Ted's underpants. 'You know if Joe Maplin finds out someone didn't come to work they'll get the sack!'

'That doesn't matter,' Spike huffs. 'I'm fed up with being a Camp Comic. I'm rotten at it anyway. April's not impressed with me. Says it blurs my personality when I prance around acting the fool. She wants me to take a more serious job.'

Ah yes, this impending marriage to April really is clouding Spike's judgement. There had been days, Peggy remembers, when being a Camp Comic was all Spike lived for, when the prospect of being chucked in the pool had him wriggling with excitement, when he'd work out his costumes and his wheezes with an enormous grin on his face, hardly able to wait to test them out on the campers.

But April is deceptively sweet and little and blonde and innocent, and Spike feels drawn to her. And April is controlling and manipulative, throwing a tantrum akin to those of a small child to have her way.

And April wants him to make more money, so they can go and live in a bungalow somewhere.

It has occurred to Peggy sometimes that maybe April isn't the right girl for him.

Of course, she hasn't said anything about that. Saying anything about that would imply she was eyeing up the comedian for herself, and that wouldn't exactly do her any favours.

Never mind that, perhaps, before the new girl Yellowcoats came along this season, and before Spike paired off with April and she found herself in a casual relationship with Rupert the assistant pudding chef, she _might_ have been eyeing up the comedian for herself. It's a path that's closed to her now, just as being a Yellowcoat always seems to be, and she's concentrated instead on being a friend and confidante as well as a darn good washer of his shirts.

'But you're not actin' the fool!' she exclaims now, 'you're makin' the campers happy! It's a wonderful job!'

'Am I? Somehow I don't seem to be getting the laughs anymore. Maybe I'm just too serious for the job now. I've gotten more serious since April, I think.'

'Well, _I think_,' Peggy says, straightening her spectacles on her nose and standing up, 'you just need to be reminded that life isn't all serious! That April—she's bleedin' all the fun right out of your soul! I'll tell you what,' she drags him to his feet, 'you need to come and see the ducks!'

Spike pauses, puzzled, and who can blame him? It's not the sort of thing people would expect to hear, but then again, not many people understand Peggy's logic, and she's used to that. She always has a point, though, and more often than not, it's a good one.

'They're ever so funny,' she says, smiling fondly at a recent memory, 'the little ones are still growin' up, and they trip all over each other! It'll put the laugh back in yer belly!'

'The ducks,' Spike repeats.

'That's right!' she nods as if speaking to someone who's slightly old and deaf, and then she pulls him out the door of the chalet.

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><p>At the back of Maplin's is a large field stretching out as an ocean of long grass until it eventually makes way to beach huts and the sea, and if you wander through that field at some point during your stay, you may come across a number of unusual things. It is where old Partridge often used to slump down into the grass, concealing himself from the others while he shirked his duties and allowed a bottle of Scotch to devour his afternoon. It is where the donkey derby is sometimes held, or the odd pony trek, provided the weather is fine and the grass is not too wet, and it is where little children bring the kites they make during Thursdays Fun Time Craft Afternoon, the bows all tied on for them by the Yellowcoats. It is also, if you know where to look, abundant with local wildlife, drab birds which have escaped from the kiddies' petting zoo and bred with common pigeons, creating nests of ordinarily extraordinary creatures, the odd gull, the odd rabbit. But it is the ducks that many campers come out to see—a little family of them, having come here from nobody knows where, laying claim to the small, murky pond that stretches through the middle of the field for several yards and into which many an unsuspecting camper steps and ends up with soggy socks. Every year, it seems, there is a new group of them, a fresh batch of ducklings hatching in the spring, just as the first lot of campers arrive, and growing up throughout the Maplin's season, melting the hearts of every new batch of holidaymakers who comes their way.<p>

It is towards this duck pond that Spike and Peggy are walking now, and they trudge through the grass in its general direction, not saying a word to each other, just picking their way towards it and concentrating on avoiding puddles.

'Oh, I do love them ducks,' Peggy breaks the silence, swinging her head round to face Spike and hitting herself in the face with her curls, ''ere, you could always try a funny duck costume! That'd gerra laugh with the campers! It's like Ted says, you 'ave to 'ave sympathy, and the campers _love_ them little ducklings! So they'd love you! See!'

'I suppose,' Spike replies half-heartedly. ' But I'm not sure I have the presence of mind to be a duck.'

He says this so solemnly, and for a moment all Peggy can think of is how hilarious the line would sound to someone overhearing them, having no idea of the context, that she cackles inadvertently.

'That was a laugh!' Spike says, slightly astounded.

'Yeah—you are actually quite funny when you're not tryin' too hard!'

'Oh,' he replies thoughtfully. 'Thanks.'

They're close to the pond now. Peggy takes him by the elbow and leads him over, pulling a bag of breadcrumbs from her pocket.

'You can help me feed 'em—they're ever so funny when they waddle up to yer and try to snatch the bag…' she stops abruptly, gawking, because instead of, as usual, being greeted by the chirpy little fellas, what they are staring at is an empty duck pond.

'Where'd they go?'

'Have you got the right place, Peggy?'

'Of _course_ I've got it right,' Peggy retorts. 'I'm norra moron, you know! I do remember how to get places! I 'ave to navigate me way through the 'ole camp!'

'Right you are.'

'They might've flown off!'

'Well, where would they go?'

Peggy ponders this. 'I don't know, but they wouldn't have gone far. We can go on a duck hunt and track them down!'

They start heading around the edge of the pond, peering through the grass in the hope of spotting a feather or a beak.

'Heeeere duckies! Duck-duck-duckieeees!' Peggy calls. 'Quaaack!'

Spike looks at her. ' What are you doin'?'

'Callin' to 'em! In their own language. Maybe they'll respond.' It makes perfect sense to her but Spike gives her the same look everyone seems to when accusing her of having 'brainstorms.' Never mind, at least he's not moping, and when they do find the ducks, she can gloat.

'Quaack!' Peggy calls again as they circle the pond. Still no response from the ducks. 'Well, come on, Spike, help me!'

The camp comic, who has been pushing aside strands of long grass to look through them, smiles, snorts and then comes to stand beside her.

'Here, ducks!' he calls lazily, and then he seems to think the better of it, throw caution to the winds and be as loud as she is. 'Heeere, ducks!'

'Duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucks!' Peggy hollers. She's jumping around now, wholly caught up in the moment, and so doesn't notice the wet rock right near her foot.

Down Peggy goes, crashing into the pond, squealing as the water goes up her overall.

'Peggy!' Spike wheels around frantically. 'Are you all right?'

'I think there's tadpoles in 'ere!' she wails. Spike takes a tentative step into the brackish water, then another, wading slowly in to assist her.

'Don't worry, Peggy, I'll—' and then he's down too, flailing as he tries to get his bearings. Peggy giggles at the uproarious scene.

'And 'oo says you're norra good comic?!' she howls. 'You make _me_ laugh!'

Spike gives up trying to get up, crawling through the water and coming to sit beside her. She can only imagine what a sight the pair of them must be, dripping wet and sitting in a glorified mud puddle, looking for ducks that aren't there.

'You know,' he says, putting his arm around her shoulders, and Peggy finds she doesn't mind that he's getting more mud on her one bit, 'this has given me the most wonderful idea for a new pool wheeze! Some o' the campers can dress as ducks, in teams of Kent and York house, and I can be the Funny Duck Hunter, with a cap like Elmer Fudd. I'll go around trying to find them, and they can all be hidin' around the pool, and whoever doesn't get caught wins, then when I find them, they'll push me in!'

He looks so excited, so enthusiastic, and Peggy is glad of it. He seems more himself than he has in weeks now.

And in the position they're in, Peggy would love dearly to be able to kiss him. He has never looked more attractive to her than he does at this very moment, completely filthy and soaking wet, undignified and yet happy to be so. She restrains herself though. April is still out there somewhere, and Rupert the pudding chef is at this very moment in the kitchen preparing pink blancmanges for this evening's dessert. Not only that, Spike wouldn't be very pleased, she thinks.

Her restraint is unnecessary, though, because before she knows it, Spike has huddled in closer and delivered the kiss himself.

'Sorry, Peggy!' he blanches, pulling away and shuffling a few inches from her. 'I don't know what came over me!'

'Oh, I don't mind,' she returns, though she's reeling inside. It's what she's always wanted, and though she isn't sure there will ever be an en core, she's happy enough with it for the moment.

'Don't tell April, will you?'

'Of _course not_,' she says, saddened somewhat that this doesn't seem to have changed anything, but hopeful that maybe, someday, there'll be another duck hunt, and then maybe another kiss, and that that time it might, 'as long as you don't tell Miss Cathcart!'

He grins then, moves back closer and they sit together for a while, wet and uncomfortable but in high spirits.

A fluttering noise disrupts the peaceful moment, and both Spike and Peggy look up to see a mallard standing by the edge of the water, glaring at them through beady eyes as though incensed at them for taking its home. Behind it, another one emerges, and slowly, they step back into the pond, staring daggers at the two humans invading their space. Then another, then another, and the little ones are now joining them too, filling the water with cheerful quacking noises.

'Looks like the ducks came back,' Spike observes unnecessarily. 'I'm definitely gonna make the funny duck costumes look like that green one.'

'Aww,' says Peggy, because she's not sure what else to say at this point. 'Bless.'

The Maplin's chalet lines are normally quiet in the afternoons, and Entertainment Staff-free, and usually, if you head out behind the camp through the grass you'll find a duck pond full of birds. It is unlikely you will see Spike and Peggy there, enjoying each other's company, for this is just one afternoon, and a rather special one at that.

But if you do chance to gather with the other campers around the pool, you will undoubtedly notice that Spike's Duck Hunt is invariably the highlight of the afternoon pool fun, and the comedian has never gotten as many laughs as he does with this gag.

And though Peggy never takes credit for helping him come up with the idea, she watches him every time, her eyes glistening with pride, and shimmering with the memory of the afternoon they spent in the duck pond.


End file.
